


Trick or Treat

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Breathplay, Crossdressing, Halloween, M/M, Porn, Safer Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-08
Updated: 2009-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:42:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylar and Luke get into the spirit of the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trick or Treat

They're in a diner just off Route 199, sharing a slice of pumpkin pie that's been laced with fluorescent green mini marshmallows. It's seasonal, Sylar supposes, something unexpectedly ghoulish to keep the regulars amused but the dye from the marshmallows is leeching out, staining the pumpkin filling the colour of rotting flesh and he suspects the excessive food colouring's to blame that the diner's sole restroom has been occupied since he and Luke sat down. Sylar drops his fork and pushes the plate closer to Luke; with a feral grin, the kid wolfs down what's left, his tongue a dark, unsettling green as he licks the tines of his fork clean.

"It's Halloween soon," Luke says.

Sylar casts his gaze around the room, at the cut-out paper jack-o'-lanterns taped to the windows and the life-size plastic skeleton that's nestled in the corner of their booth. There's a witch's hat and a warlock's cloak on the hat stand, and devil horns perched on the waitresses' heads. "I never would have guessed."

Luke rolls his eyes at Sylar's smirk, kicks his ankles under the table when he arches one condescending eyebrow in return. "No, I mean. We should do something fun."

"For Halloween," he adds when Sylar's face remains impassive.

Sylar throws a handful of bills on the table, grabs his coat as he stands and motions for Luke to follow. "I'm not taking you trick or treating."

***

Sylar waits until he hears the shower spray shut off, then raps on the bathroom door.

There's a half a beat of silence before Luke warily calls, "Uh… come in?"

Sylar grins to himself as he knocks again, listening to Luke shift nervously around the bathroom. He isn't usually one for social niceties and it's somehow perversely satisfying that Luke's become so accustomed to him, a simple show of manners makes him ill at ease.

Luke heaves the door open suddenly, dripping wet with a towel looped loosely around his waist. His right hand glows red with microwaves, his eyes going wide as saucers at the sight of Sylar leaning against the doorjamb.

"Trick or treat?" Sylar purrs.

Luke scowls, snapping, "Very funny," as he tries to turn away, but Sylar holds out a neatly folded brown paper bag, waving it enticingly under his nose.

"What's that?"

"For you," Sylar urges. "Take it."

Luke's still frowning when he opens the bag. As he peers down into it, his frown gets deeper; he glances up at Sylar. "I don't get it."

Sylar steps over the threshold, takes Luke by the hips and guides him to the bathroom mirror. One easy tug and the towel pools around their feet, the fabric of Sylar's shirt going damp where Luke's back is pressed to his chest. He cups his hand under Luke's chin, holds his head steady so that their eyes meet in the mirror. "You wanted to do something fun, so I thought we'd dress up for Halloween."

Luke swallows dryly and reaches into the bag. With a shaking hand, he pulls out the panties Sylar has chosen, rich, dark green silk twisting around his fingers.

Breathlessly, Luke whispers, "And you want me to wear these?"

"Yes."

Luke's breath quickens; he brings the panties to his face, rubs the shiny silk against the round of his cheek, sighing at the gentle susurration of the fabric against his skin and in their reflection, Sylar can see his pupils dilate dark with lustful curiosity.

He holds the panties up and out, in both hands, stretched wide, considering. In a sudden moment of searing heat, Luke dries himself with a single pulse of microwaves, Sylar's shirtfront steaming as the dampness there is nuked. In the mirror, he flashes Sylar a dirty grin and says, "Okay."

Sylar holds Luke steady as he bends to put on the panties, ankles held tight together to slide fabric up his legs. The green looks good against his pale skin, complimenting the ruddy hair that dusts his thighs. Between his legs, Luke's cock hangs plump and heavy, not quite hard, but on the way. Sylar skates his palms over the soft expanse of Luke's belly, dips his hands into his groin and helps him tuck his dick under the elastic waistband.

The panties sit low on Luke's hips, cut high on his thighs. The fabric stretches over the swell of his ass and the shape of his erection; the satin feels cool under Sylar's fingers, warming to match the heat of Luke's skin where Sylar traces contours of his groin. Sylar pulls Luke's hips back to rub his crotch against his ass, the slide silken-smooth as they rut together. In the groove of his ass, the panties gather obscenely with every fluid thrust of Sylar's hips.

Luke reaches back to pluck the fabric free, but Sylar grabs him by the wrists, covers Luke's hands with his own and curls his fingers around the lip of the porcelain sink. Sylar's cock is throbbing, his balls aching heavy where they've drawn up close against his body. He snakes his finger between Luke's thighs and works into the tight space under the dark green gusset, already damp with Luke's sweat. Sylar hooks his finger around Luke's sac, where it's constricted awkwardly by the silk, curls his knuckle and tugs his balls back until they're pinched between his legs, settling them there, pressed up against his perineum.

Sylar eases his finger free, guiding Luke's testicles back in place when they threaten to jostle free from their precarious position. The front of the panties look smoother now, the silk not strained so desperately tight over Luke's cock and Luke exhales a shuddering sigh as Sylar palms his dick to test the fit.

In the mirror, Sylar's gaze travels from the panties stretched tight over Luke's rounded hips to the narrowness of his chest and the softness of his waist; his breath hitches as his eyes focus on the hard length beneath the silk, the wet spot that's staining the fabric darker, a single point to shatter the illusion of androgyny. Arousal radiates through him until his thighs quiver with the need to thrust and his chest feels tighter still with the hardening of his nipples. He quivers on the knife edge of his orgasm, so sweetly close at the filthy sight of Luke in women's underwear.

But he steps back, leaves a flushed and flustered Luke blinking owlishly at him in their reflection, lingering in that torturous no man's land of _nearly there_.

"What about you?" Luke pants. "What are you gonna wear?"

Sylar shrugs. "Get dressed and we'll see."

***

Sylar slaps Luke's hand away from the car's heating as he tries to turn it down; his nipples ache with cold in the simple cotton tee Luke has picked for him.

"It's only fall," Luke whines defensively. Sylar grunts, grinding his teeth fiercely to keep them from chattering.

With an exaggerated sigh, Luke unbuckles his seatbelt and winds his upper body into the backseat.

Sylar grabs at him, hooking his fingers in the belt loops of his jeans, trying to haul him back into his seat. "What the hell are you–?"

Above Luke's waistband, a strip of dark green silk is showing, the dainty elastic digging bright red marks into the puppy fat that softens Luke's hips; Sylar's head swims at the sight, his cock instantly, insistently hard again, his breath seemingly snatched from his chest.

"Here," Luke says petulantly, tossing a jacket at Sylar as he wriggles back into his seat. "It's not like you can freeze to death, anyway."

***

It's late afternoon when they reach Grants Pass; twilight is starting to set in and the youngest trick-or-treaters are already out with their parents, toddling as they carry pumpkin shaped buckets of candy nearly big enough to drag on the ground. They drive slowly through the sleepy Oregon town; from the corner of his eye, Sylar watches Luke make scary faces at the kids who look their way.

They pull up outside the warehouse in time to see Curtis Hovsepian slip inside, the black cowl of his costume pulled high to shadow his face. There's something distastefully trite about killing a man who works in a haunted house on Halloween, but the tackiness of it doesn't seem to bother Luke. He's playing microwaves over his palms, knees bouncing eagerly up and down as Sylar shuts off the engine.

Sylar lets Luke lead the way, watching as he creeps through the door that Curtis has left ajar. He forces himself to think about the man they're tracking and not the awkward bow-legged walk that Luke's been sporting all day or the reason for it, worn close to his body beneath his jeans.

The warehouse is pitch black inside, straw rustles underfoot, near drowned out by Curtis' off-key rendition of _Monster Mash_. Sylar can feel the heat of Luke to his right, inching forward as he feels his way along the wall. As Sylar's eyes adjust to the light, he can make out eerie shapes hanging from the rafters. In the shadows, his mind's eye paints them as corpses.

There's a sudden metallic clang and the sound of Luke's muffled swearing. Up ahead, Sylar can hear the swish of Curtis' cloak as he swivels to face them.

"Hey!" he shouts. "I can see you two there! You can't be in here!"

Sylar grins, different abilities teasing at his fingertips, his skin itching with the desire to lash out with them all at once. Instead, he presses telekinetically at Luke's throat, stops the quip that's already half tripped from his lips. Sylar crouches down, feels his way along the bales of hay stacked to make a route through the haunted house but Curtis calls again, "I can _see_ you! Look, man, the haunted house opens in hour. Buy a ticket like everyone else or I'll have to call the cops."

He can hear Curtis step towards them, the clammy sound of sweaty palms wrapped defensively around a handle. Sylar stands smoothly, brushing the straw from his clothes.

"Night vision's a neat ability, Curtis. Wanna see one of mine?"

While Curtis splutters, Sylar flicks his wrist, slams him against the warehouse wall. With careful steps, Sylar follows the sound of his panicked breathing, makes his way to where he's pinned as Luke holds up a newly lit lantern. Even in the feeble light it gives, Sylar can see how cheaply done the haunted house is. The corpses from the ceiling are barely more than scarecrows hanging by their necks; the skeletons, no more scary than the one they'd eaten pie with. He rolls his eyes as Luke picks up an oversized plastic spider and waves it menacingly in front of Curtis' face; Sylar yanks the pitchfork from Curtis' grip and impales it through his cloak, the sharpened prongs half an inch from Luke's arm. Sullenly, Luke nukes the spider and steps back with a scowl.

"So tell me, Curtis," Sylar purrs, leaning in close with the light held beneath their chins, their faces lit up and shadowed like jack-o'-lanterns. "Does it work like night-vision goggles or do you see as well as you do in the day?"

Between his tears, Curtis' opens his mouth to speak. Before he can make a sound, Sylar's mind presses hard against his windpipe. "On second thought, I think I'd rather be surprised."

Sylar lets the pressure fall when he cuts through Curtis' scalp, his screams and Luke's giggles echoing through the haunted house. Blood soaks the straw beneath their feet and slicks Sylar's palms as he smoothes his fingers over Curtis' brain and teases the ability from him. Luke arranges the body grotesquely, so that Curtis' neck lolls back as if he's merely resting, brain and scalp removed, with his elbow on a pumpkin. Sylar sighs in exasperation when Luke nukes the corpse, just a little.

With a telekinetic punch, Sylar smashes the lantern Luke's holding, making him jump and yelp, "Dude! A little warning?"

In the darkness, Sylar's vision is black and white, sharper than any night vision goggles; he drops Curtis' brain to the ground and watches in perfect clarity as splatters with a visceral squelch. Luke's blindly picking glass from his hoodie, dark finger trails that must be blood staining his clothes where his hands brush. He isn't aware of Sylar creeping nearer until Sylar's hands are pressing bloody prints to his hips where he grabs them, and he's shoved roughly against the wall.

Sylar swallows down his surprised shout, laughs into his mouth at the feel of Luke's pounding heart where their chests are pressed together. Luke's hands twist in his hair and in his shirt, a bruising, biting kiss that heals taken as his revenge. Sylar is high on his new ability, eyes open wide as he watches Luke writhe against him, legs splaying wide to let Sylar grind a thigh against his fly. He wraps his hands around Sylar's upper arms, fingers under his jacket, curling around the short-sleeves of Sylar's tee.

"Yes," Luke moans, lips aiming for Sylar's ear, pressing sightlessly instead to his neck. "Wanted this, wanted you, all day."

"Panties feel so fucking good," he breathes.

With a growl, Sylar slams him harder to the wall, fumbles with the button of his fly and as he shifts his footing, to hold Luke's weight up as well as his, the toe of his shoe knocks against Curtis' lifeless hand. The body slumps forward from where Luke had so carefully arranged it. Sylar takes a deep breath, tastes the stench of blood and viscera in the stagnant warehouse air and stills Luke's hands when he reaches for him. Outside, he can hear the sounds of people arriving, waiting for the haunted house to open.

"Not here."

***

They speed to the nearest motel with the headlights off, Sylar's enhanced vision guiding them through the night. They stumble into the reception, covered in blood and straw, Sylar's hands groping roughly down the back of Luke's jeans, fingers sliding over the silky plane of the panties.

"Nice costumes, boys," the clerk says, unfazed by their display.

Sylar slaps a fifty on the counter without breaking his mouth from Luke's.

"Room 5B, at the end of the hall."

Sylar snatches up the key and leaves the change. When the clerk calls after them, "Remember, no glove, no love," Sylar grins up at her.

"Yes, ma'am."

***

Sylar shoves Luke to the centre of the bed, ripping open his fly with no preamble as he drops to his knees between Luke's legs and presses his face to Luke's erection, tightly swathed in green silk, ginger curls peeking above. He inhales deeply, tasting Luke's musk on the roof of his mouth, and licks broadly up the length of Luke's dick, the grain of the silk smooth beneath his tongue. The fabric seems to cling to every vein that criss-crosses Luke's shaft; as Sylar draws back, he can clearly see the ridge of Luke's dick defined below the silk.

He hooks his fingers in Luke's waistband, yanks down until he can leave a biting kiss to the pale flesh of Luke's inner thigh. Then, shuffles off the bed and drags Luke's jeans with him, down and off his legs. As Luke wriggles out of his hoodie and t-shirt, Sylar strips himself, the condom from his back pocket tossed beside Luke's squirming hips.

Sylar covers Luke's body with his own, lowers his hips to rub his cock along the groove when Luke's thigh meets his groin. He braces himself on his forearms, stomach taut to leave a gap they can both peer down through, to watch their cocks slide together with just pre-come stained silk between them. As they grind together, Sylar can feel the delicate skin of Luke's sac pressing warmly to his cock as his balls shift with their movement, working free from the leg-hole of the panties. Sylar reaches down, cups them in his hand, still half trapped inside Luke's underwear, feeling the changing texture of finely haired skin and satin. His fingers explore behind, a pressure that skates from Luke's perineum to his hole and back.

But when Sylar nudges the gusset aside, drags the pad of his dry thumb teasingly over Luke's entrance, Luke groans, "Wait. Please. Let me top."

Luke takes advantage of Sylar's momentary surprise, flips them over to straddle his hips, both hands dragging through Sylar's chest hair as he smothers him with a desperate kiss. "Please, wanted you all day. So hard for you all day. Wanna fuck you so badly."

Sylar kisses back, tongue firm as it slides behinds Luke's teeth, traces the ridges of the roof of his mouth. He works the panties down Luke's hips in short, staccato yanks, laughing as Luke hisses when the elastic waistband catches on the underside of his cock. Luke rests his forehead on Sylar's cheekbone, rubs his face against his stubble, leaving pretty, wet kisses along Sylar's jaw as he squeezes his thighs together to let Sylar pull the panties down his legs, off one ankle and then the other.

He balls the panties in his fist, brings them to face and inhales the pure, rich scent of sex, and sweat. Sylar's eyes flutter shut, a bone-deep groan rumbling through him, his cock aching hot where it's pressed between his stomach and Luke's inner thigh. He can feel Luke's hand cover his own; Sylar opens his eyes, quirks an eyebrow at Luke's filthy grin, and parts his lips wide with only a little resistance when Luke pushes down, forcing the balled up panties into his mouth. And now, his every breath is steeped in _Luke_, his taste thick in Sylar's mouth. Luke's fingers trace over his stretched lips.

Sylar feels a quick burn on his hip to urge him onto his stomach. He rolls with a warning growl, Luke sucking his fingers as he sits back on his heels, grimacing at the taste of blood still clinging to his skin. Sylar cradles his head on his folded arms, his nose crushed in the sheets, with his ass high in the air as Luke presses on the backs of his thighs. Two barely-slick fingers delve into him, screwing blunt and deep and fast. Sylar gasps, tries to breathe through the sudden pain of being stretched but the air he sucks in is muggy with Luke's scent, his own warm exhalations trapped by the gag, the sheets and his arms. And, even as he feels lightheaded, his mind seemingly not quite where his body is, he feels everything more sharply than he did before: the stretch of Luke's fingers a sublime burn; his untouched cock swaying heavily, throbbing impossibly harder.

Luke's cock feels big inside him, the lube from the condom all that eases way. Luke thrusts in deep and stays there, blood stained hands sliding up and down the sheen of sweat on Sylar's back, balls resting on Sylar's ass as he grinds them together. He smoothes his palms over Sylar's sides, teasing ticklish places as he twists his fingertips in the hair beneath Sylar's arms; Sylar can feel hysteria building in his gut and when he squirms to escape the touch, Luke's cock shifts within him, brushes maddeningly briefly over his prostate. He's overwhelmed with too many sensations, on the verge of something without knowing if it's laughter, screams or tears. His vision is edging to a black he can't see through, shallow breaths muffled in his gag, and a haze of pleasure hums over him, spiking as Luke begins to thrust in earnest, fingers winding around to his chest to pinch and pulls his nipples.

Luke strokes up his throat, the pad of his thumb brushing gently over his Adam's apple, bitten-down nails scratching at the stubble beneath his chin. Then, Luke's yanking the panties from his mouth and fresh air floods Sylar's lungs. He's disoriented and he's gasping; he feels Luke wrap the panties around his cock, spit-soaked silk pumping around his dick and before he can catch his breath, he's coming, his throat too hoarse to make a sound.

Luke's hips curl under, snap up into him and he can feel Luke's cock through the condom as it pulses, his fingertips burning whorls on Sylar's hips as he comes.

Sylar finds the strength the twist onto his back, catching Luke as he collapses forward, letting him drape bonelessly over his chest. They lie together, panting, covered in sweat and semen and now-dry blood, too sated to care about cleaning up. Luke's snoring with his nose pressed to Sylar's clavicle; Sylar fishes the soiled panties from the tangled sheets and brings them to his face, falls asleep inhaling his own scent mingled with Luke's.


End file.
